Australia's Memoirs WWI
by T.Doh
Summary: It was finally his chance to prove himself, as a real country. But as Australia had always said, when the going gets tough, you stick with the rough. rated T for extreme potty mouth, y'know the drill... If you're curse-sensetive, retain a safe disance!


WWI: Australia's Memoirs.

**The Beginnings of a Good Fucking Fist Fight.**

England yelled to me from his office,

"Australia, I need a word, please,"

I walk in with my hands shoved deep into my pockets,

"Whaddaya want?"

"As you may know, we are currently having some… issues with Germany, I'm about to declare war,"

I feel a grin spreading across my face,

"No fucking way! Finally, it's taken you long enough, ya' fuckin' old timer! Yeah, those cunts are gonna get what's coming to 'em! ...what's wrong?"

I watch as England grimaces at me,

"Could you please stop swearing, it is not something that a good English gentleman should do."

"Yeah, but I'm not English, am I? Or good, for that matter,"

I said with a wink

"And it's a fucking part of my fucking charm, bastard. Bloody hell, Artie, you look like you just chugged a shitload of sour milk, now that's fucking hilarious, where's a camera when you need one?"

I laugh loudly and England quickly stands up and slams his hands against his desk,

"Australia! This is serious! We're about to go into war and I need to know wether you're going to let me send in your troops!"

The grin slides off my face and I look at England seriously,

"Mate, I never abandon a friend in a time of need, you should fucking know that by now. And as if I'd miss out on the best fucking fist fight I've seen in years!"

I begin laughing again and though England looks tired he knows both statements are true. England start's to talk strategy, and I begin to get tired, so I quickly say,

"By the way, can New Zealand and I band together or some shit like that?"

England nods stiffly,

"I was rather hoping not to get New Zealand involved… but if you wish, and he agrees, you may,"

But I was way past asking for permission,

"Yeah, it'll be fuckin' epic, we'll call ourselves ANZAC!"

England raised an eyebrow,

"And what does that stand for?"

"Australia, New Zealand And Cunts!"

England choked on his cup of tea slightly,

"Certainly not! How about Australian and New Zealand Army Corps,"

I rolled my eyes,

"Yeah, whatever… ANZAC… sounds pretty fucking cool, though, maybe like a sweet biscuit or something like that… yeah, I fucking love it! And I know New Zealand will too!"

England stared at me with worried eyes, the same way he would when I was little and brought home strange animals, more often than not kangaroo's and wallabies' or when I'd brought home Barry, me drop bear. I looked back at him,

"What's wrong, Artie?"

He frowned further,

"This isn't… This war, it's going to be unlike any war we've experienced before, this isn't going to be easy, Australia, people are going to die. Many, many people are going to die. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"You sure are optimistic aren't you, my little ray of sunshine?"

But England stared at me with the eyes of a man, who'd seen it all before, and I didn't like what I saw, the shadows of hell rested within his eyes. It sent a terrified shiver down the base of my spine, but I wasn't one to run away. I wasn't a weak little brother, and I was far too fucking stubborn to say no. Now I wish I had, I would never have to of seen the death and tears that this war was going to cause… sometimes that old saying was right, ignorance is bliss. But still, I smiled at England in a definite kind of way,

"Abso- Fuckin'- Lutely."

**Australia, New Zealand And Cunts Official Meeting (England being the 'Cunts').**

I carried New Zealand on my back, all the way to England's house, when I opened the front door, Artie stood in the hall way and gave off the impression that he'd been waiting there for a while,

"Sup, old timer? Care to help me with Zealand?"

England ran towards me immediately,

"What's happened, what've you done to him?"

I rolled my eyes,

"Get your dick back in your pants, he's fine… just, uh, how you'd say… oh, fuck, what was it? Ah, right! Inebriated, yep, he's shit-faced."

All the lights were off in England's house, they had to be, he was afraid of air- raids. He led me up the stairs to one of his spare rooms, I put New Zealand on the bed as lightly as I could, and we turned away and walked back down the stairs into his lounge room, where he dared to light one candle.

"You didn't get him drunk to agree with the ANZAC idea, did you?"

I shook my head,

"He was just upset, so we went to the pub after deciding on the ANZAC thing. Got no fucking spine down his back, NZ, does he?"

England frowns slightly,

"No, New Zealand is smart. It's right to be afraid. if you had half the brains he did you would be afraid, too."

I shrugged my shoulders,

"I make up for lack of brains with my charm and good looks,"

England's forehead creases,

"Charm and good looks won't get you far in war,"

I sighed, everything seemed to be getting far too serious. England shifted uncomfortably in his seat,

"So what arrangements did you make?"

I shrugged,

"We're a Corps, but our Armies are separate, I don't want either of us to get credit for the others work…"

I paused, feeling a little sick

"Ah, fuck this, Artie, I'm fucking terrified."

I let my head fall down into my hands, and then before I could stop it, a scared sob left my lips. I looked through my fingers and saw England run a hand through his hair,

"Yeah, me too. I'm not going to lie to you, this won't be easy, sometimes your going to feel like surrendering… but please remember that you're fighting for not just yourself but a lot of other countries, countries that can't fight for themselves."

I nod and pull my hands down my face, rubbing my eye sockets with the tips of my fingers. I hear a light pair of footsteps trod down the hall upstairs,

"Aus? England?"

New Zealand's voice floats down and all of a sudden there's a loud crash and he's arse over head at the bottom of the stairs, Artie and I both rush over to him and get him up on his feet,

"Fuck, NZ, you hold your liquor as well as barrel full of holes!"

He smiles up at me, and I see that his eyes are red and puffy, like someone who's spent a lot of time crying, and even more time trying to rub them away with tissues. I gave him a pat on the back and put his arm over my shoulders, leading him over to the couch and sitting him down. I plonked down next to him and his head rested on my shoulder. I thought momentarily about my little brother, did I really want to bring him into this war? Ever since we were little we were a pair. It was always Australia and New Zealand, never the other way around and never one without the other. Australia and New Zealand. My natural rowdiness and his ability to diffuse a situation meshed together quiet well, though most of the time he was just as rowdy as me, and we'd often play wrestle when we were younger, and still around the same size (You see, when I continued to grow and grow and grow, New Zealand stayed relatively lean and, though we still wrestle, it's usually a bit more one sided).I remembered that we used to sow each other the rarest of our native animals, and how we used to take the mickey out of each other all the time. I remembered how we used to compete for England's attention (I would act out, and New Zealand would be the model child) but he would always be too busy acting butt-hurt over America. But mostly I remembered that when nobody else had our backs, we had each others. And it was with this thought that I turned to my little brother's broken-hearted face and said,

"You don't have to do it, Zealand, I'll protect you, with or with out your army,"

He shook his head in response, and took a minute to figure out what he wanted to say (probably because he didn't want to slur his words),

"It's you and me, big bro. I wouldn't ever let you do it by yourself, fuckwit. You and me, against the world… just like always."

I ruffle his hair with my hand and give him a solemn response,

"Just like always."

He then continues to say, in the same soft voice,

"Can I have a bucket, I think I'm gonna-"

England forces a bucket into his face just in time, as NZ's body rejects the good 300 litres of alcohol he had consumed only an hour before hand. I laugh loudly,

"You little fucker, you're off your face, but next time you've gotta aim for the carpets, Artie will have a fucking heart attack if you aim it just right,"

England glares at me,

"Remind me why I wanted your help again?"

I grin obnoxiously,

"Cause I'm fucking fantastic!"

**A Sad Fucking Day for ANZAC'S.**

I didn't quiet understand then why they all looked so sad, they should've been excited, proud, even. And yet, as the women waved their sons and husbands goodbye, they held handkerchiefs to their eyes and waved solemnly. The men were far more excited, wide, and cheeky, grins were plastered on their faces and happy slaps on the back were being shared as the boat, slowly, but surely, left the dock. I watched from the window of my house and as I looked, some of the boys looked barely old enough to get into a pub, let alone a war. Thinking of pubs reminded me that I was going out for drinks with New Zealand to celebrate what England called a 'momentous occasion'. New Zealand had become a little bit more comfortable with the idea since we'd decided upon it. Sighing, I walk into my room and grab a white button down shirt, though it's hardly white any more, and a pair of workers jeans. If you turn up to a pub in anything to fancy, you'll either get beaten up, have the piss taken out of you, or get mugged. I glanced in the mirror, my hair looked disgusting, I quickly grabbed the comb and brushed it all off my face (never know when a good looking sheila's gonna be there) and all of the hairs slicked back with the grease, apart from two cow-licks that flicked out straight from the front. Knowing it's the best I could do I grabbed a thick woollen jacket and ran out the door and down the street to a local pub, New Zealand was sitting at the bar chatting up a girl with long blonde hair. I smirked and walked up to New Zealand,

"Son? What the fuck are you doing at the bar? You're only thirteen!"

I turned to the woman,

"I'm sorry if he's caused you any trouble m'am, he's a little shit sometimes, maybe we can discuss it later?"

I wink at her and she smiled at me writing something on a napkin with her lipstick, then kissed it and handed it to me. She walked away and I take the bar stool she was sitting on. NZ glared at me,

"Not cool bro. I was about to make major progress,"

I looked down at the napkin and frowned,

"Don't worry I didn't make any either, frigid bitch,"

I showed the napkin to Zealand, it read:

"_You wish"_

New Zealand began to laugh loudly. The bar keep came around and I ordered two VB's. Holding the stubby in my hand I turned to New Zealand,

"So this is our first day of War, d'you feel any different?"

He shook his head,

"No, not yet… d'you think we're meant to feel different?"

I shook my head,

"Nah… maybe… I don't fucking know."

I shrugged my shoulders,

"I guess I thought it'd be more important than this, I mean it's not like they've gone into battle yet or anything… I just kind of thought, maybe I'd feel fucking something, but I'm not, it's like I'm numb,"

New Zealand nodded,

"Yeah, that's a good word for it… numb."

We both take a swig of beer. I elbow NZ in the ribs,

"How'd you recover from your hangover, sport?"

He gritted his teeth,

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Aw, c'mon, we went back to England's, you took a stumble down the stairs and cried like a little baby,"

He punched me square in the nuts and I immediately curled over in pain,

"Aw, fuck you, Zealand,"

After I recovered, I petted my crotch softly,

"It's okay, lil' fella's"

Then I turned to him,

"Seriously though, how'd you go?"

Zealand groaned and clutched his head,

"I don't know how you do it, Aus; it was like I got hit in the face by a brick house, repeatedly."

I smiled at him,

"Ah, now my solution is easy, I'm simply never sober enough to experience a hangover,"

He raised and eyebrow,

"You mean to say you're constantly drunk?"

I nodded,

"Hold my liquor like a fucking champion, I do."

We laughed and chatted for a while, but then the topic came back to the numbness,

"I don't like it, it's weird,"

Whispered New Zealand, in a way that I knew I shouldn't poke fun or laugh, and in all honesty I felt the same way,

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I'm such a fucking idiot."

I ran my hand back through my hair, bits and pieces were falling loose, then I winced when New Zealand didn't argue my point. He slapped me on my back,

''We both are, we should've just stayed out of it… s'not our war."

He clenched and unclenched his fingers in front of his face, as if to remind himself that he was still the person controlling his body. I felt the urge to do the same thing, England was in control now and Zealand and I were just puppets on his strings.

**Gallipoli.**

All I felt was fury. An all encompassing sort. The kind that made your blood run hot, your knuckles white and your hairs stand on end. The kind that made you forget about everything else. It was like an uncontrollable force of nature, a tropical cyclone, an earthquake. This was my last straw. At first I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. They were gone… almost every single one of them, gone as if they'd never even existed. Evaporated into thin air. But that was a lie, that was the nice way of putting it. They'd died in an onslaught of bullets. In a shower of metal. We hadn't come prepared, and Johnny Turk had been waiting. I bust open the door of England's office, he was sitting with the utmost composer, it made my stomach churn. I walked up to his desk and slammed my hands down on it, just as he had done,

"WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?"

He grimaced and sighed heavily,

"Australia, please…"

"ANSWER ME YOU ENGLISH CUNT!"

England cleared his throat and pulled out a bunch of papers,

"I'm afraid the boats were lead in the wrong direction, they were meant to bee line around Turkey's defence and attack from an advantage point but unfortunately they landed in front instead."

He pointed out the places on a map methodically as he spoke. I felt my gut wrench. My voice landed dangerously quiet,

"Unfortunately?"

I asked savagely. England didn't answer,

"UNFORTUNATELY? THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN 'UNFORTUNATELY'? THIS DIDN'T HAVE A THING TO DO WITH FUCKING 'FORTUNE' YOUR MEN WERE WRONG, AND NOW HALF OF MINE ARE DEAD."

"Australia."

His voice was raised to a pitch that made me fall silent. It was the same voice he used when I was in trouble as a little kid, condescending and powerful. It made me as angry then as it did when I was younger,

"Do you think I didn't lose men out there too? I ask, pray tell, do you forget this is war?"

I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pinned him up to a wall, he tried to push my hand away but it was so close to his neck that he struggled to breath, was this how my men had struggled to breathe before they died? I glared at him with a deep disgust,

"No, England, you're wrong that wasn't 'war'. That was slaughter."

His expression changed, it wasn't one of surprise anymore, it had shaped into one of pity. I snarled and then punched him square in the face with all the force I could muster. I didn't want his pity. I let go and watched as his hands clutched to his bleeding mouth and he fell to the floor. I turned towards the door. I heard a muffled voice yell at me,

"Australia, I need to ask something of you-"

I turned quickly and kicked the nearest thing I could, it was a globe, my foot shot straight the paper surface, and ironically the country I kicked a hole through was none other than the one whose eyes were regaining their false composure in front of me as he stood up. I spat in his face, and my eyes began to sting, as if I'd been cutting wild onions,

"Haven't you taken enough from me?"

**Fucking Finally.**

It hadn't been the same since then. I knew fear, and loss. Things that were once strangers held way too much familiarity. But I wasn't a weak country. And I was too fucking stubborn to give up. After decorating England's face for him, I noticed that we weren't the same anymore, there was tension and hurt between us now. But I still did what he asked, because I was taught loyalty and mateship, and an Australian never let's a mate down in times of need. I had also become better friends with America, now instead of thinking of him as untrustworthy and stupid, I found his decision to become a republic intelligent. America was the first friend I had made by myself. New Zealand and I didn't have to 'make' friends. We just were, as brothers. And all my other friends weren't really my friends at all, they were just friends of England. But America didn't seem like a fair-weather friend, he was a mate, I could tell he would have my back if I was about to fall, and though he was loud and obnoxious, he was also friendly and supportive. I began to look up at him in a way. I thought about all these changes as I lay flat on my back on a thin mattress, the kind that left you with aches in the morning. I heard a muffled noise coming from outside my room. I shot up and opened my bedroom door, this time the muffle was a definite knock, I walked down the stairs and peered through the eye hole, New Zealand stood outside with his red and black army uniform pressed and cleaned. I looked down at myself, my uniform looked relatively clean, apart from the small wrinkle here and there, I smirked to myself, that was only because I had refused to go outside unless it was to get more beer. Not bothering to put my dog-eared hat on my head, I opened the door and a flurry of arms moved toward me, New Zealand was hugging me,

"Hello to you too,"

I said gruffly. I'm not, nor was I ever, a huggable kind of person, so this gesture was both uncomfortable and confusing. But New Zealand refused to let go and I heard him give a pathetic sob,

"Ah- alright- calm down, it's okay, mate, what's wrong?"

I clapped him on the back with my hands and he sniffled loudly,

"It's over, Aus, it's finally fucking over,"

My hands dropped to my sides and my mind went completely blank. Everything left me then, everything except for the word 'over'. I felt it begin right in the pit of my stomach, it welled its way up slowly until it was bubbling right in my chest next to my thumping heart. I began to laugh. I began to laugh for the first time since I'd gotten to know what this war was. And it felt good. I felt light, like something had been lifted from my shoulders, and for a split second my heart stopped feeling the pain that was constantly there since the very first battle. I felt like Australia again. I felt young and free. I began to hug Zealand back incredulously. I pulled back from the hug and gripped him firmly on the shoulders, I wanted a good look at his face. I sighed with relief, there were no shadows in his eyes, none like the ones I'd seen in England's. I was still Australia, and he was still New Zealand, and somehow we'd survived .

**ANZAC Day.**

I stood in front of England's office door nervously. He'd called me and told me that we needed to talk, but as I stood there I realised only bad things happened in that office. It was an omen. And yet I pushed open the door with what confidence I could muster and smiled at him winningly,

"What's up, Artie?"

He looked up at me, and though we weren't as close anymore, I could still tell that he was happy. Smiling, England did not talk, then New Zealand walked in, anticipation and nervousness spread on his face. Zealand wasn't hard to figure out, every single emotion he felt would show up clear on his face,

"Arthur,"

He said with a nod. All at once I understood that both England and New Zealand knew what was going on. I glared suspiciously,

"Hold on just a fucking second, what's going on here?"

Zealand half smiled at me,

"It's a surprise for you- I mean us..."

"Well it sure as hell isn't a surprise for you, you certainly seem to know what the fuck is happening!"

England laughed half heartedly,

"Just trust us,"

I sighed and rolled my eyes,

"What-fuckin'-ever"

I turned around to walk away and I felt something very heavy hit the back of my head. When I came around I was sitting in the back of a car. I turned to see who was sitting next to me, I recognized the figure as New Zealand and tackled him,

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR!"

Zealand yelped,

"GET OFF ME YOU FAT FUCKWIT!"

I released my little brother and sat down feeling very unimpressed. Grumbling, England pulled the car to a halt,

"We try to do something nice for you and this is how you repay us,"

He gets out of the car, and I follow suit, I see a beach, with a lot of people seated there, I recognise one of them, it's Turkey I immediately jump back,

"What's he doing here!"

England sighed,

"It is his beach Australia, you should remember this,"

I freaked out momentarily, we were definitely at Gallipoli. I swallowed compulsively,

"What the fuck?"

Turkey smiled nervously and outstretched his hand to me,

"I am so sorry, Australia, this was something that never should have happened, not to you, or me, or anyone,"

I took his hand and breathed in shakily,

"Thanks, I guess,"

The figures behind him soon became clear I saw Germany, Italy, Japan, Austria and Hungary, but my vision soon became blurry and unfocused, tears, the kind that made you feel like you were finally letting go, fell from my eyes and I wiped them away hastily,

"Fuck, I'm getting emotional, any of you faggots know how to play AFL?"

They all turned to each other with eyebrows raised, I sighed, there wasn't a football there anyway. I turned to them,

"How about two-up?"

They all shook their heads,

"Well you've gotta learn sometime Fucking Australian custom, that is,"

England frowned disapprovingly,

"Australia, that's illegal,"

"Not today, it isn't"

And so the most part of the afternoon was spent trying to explain the (very simple) rules of two-up and preventing a particular Prussian from cheating. Australia hoped from the depths of his heart it would stay like this, with everyone getting along. But he always knew it was just a matter of time.


End file.
